Chapter Eight
August 15, 1912
In spite of Rose's fears, no story about her appeared in the New York Times, or any other newspaper. Rose didn't know if Luke had decided against printing her story, or if it had been rejected for some other reason, but she was grateful every day that she read the paper and found nothing about her.
Still, she was worried. She saw Luke in Central Park occasionally, but he made no move to speak to her, nor did she attempt to approach him. She knew that her dishonesty had hurt him, more than he would ever admit, but she'd never really had a choice. She had created a new life and a new identity for herself when the Carpathia had docked, and she had no intention of ever going back to her old life. In spite of her worries, she was happier in the new life she had made than she had ever been as a member of the upper class.
It wasn't just herself she had to worry about now, anyway. There was also the baby to consider. High society would never accept the illegitimate child of a debutante and a steerage passenger. In her old world, her daughter would have been mocked and ostracized for her parentage. But in the new life Rose had created for herself, no one really knew her, or her past. As far as most people knew, she was a widow, and there was no shame in a widow having a child. Indeed, some people sympathized with her, having lost her husband and been left alone to raise their child. Others thought her fortunate that she would have a child to remember her husband by.
As August passed, Rose's middle slowly began to thicken, the baby beginning to show itself. On August fifteenth, four months to the night the Titanic sank, Rose felt movement for the first time. The baby's kicks were light, like the flutter of butterfly wings, but she was definitely moving.
Rose was helping Hope make dinner when she first felt little Josephine kicking. She stopped, her knife poised above the potatoes she had been peeling, and moved a hand to her stomach, willing the baby to kick again. A moment later, she felt the gentle, fluttering movement again.
"Hope!" Rose turned to her friend, her eyes sparkling with joy. "The baby is moving!" She pressed her hand against her middle, feeling the baby move again.
"Is this the first time it's moved?"
Rose nodded, her eyes shining with wonder. "It feels so strange...not bad, though. It doesn't hurt. It just...moves. How strange...to have a little person growing and moving inside me."
Hope nodded, smiling. "It is miraculous, when you first feel it. I remember when I was carrying my son...those first few kicks were so miraculous, and so strange. It was like I really knew that there was a baby then. Before that, it was just something that thickened my waist and made me sick in the mornings. After that, it was a real baby."
"Josephine's always been real to me," Rose responded, "but you're right. This is special. I just wish Jack was here...he would be so proud. Our baby...growing and moving, turning into someone you can feel and see." She set the knife down, stroking her stomach with both hands.
Hope just looked at her and smiled, seeing the joy on Rose's face.
*****
That night, Rose fell asleep early. She had been more tired over the past few months, and the excitement of feeling the baby move had worn her out. She fell asleep before sunset, her window open to catch whatever breezes blew past in the hot summer night.
Oddly, it didn't feel as though she were asleep. Even after her eyes closed, and the now-familiar bedroom faded into the mists of sleep, Rose felt strangely energized. The world around her was bright and sunny, with a cool breeze blowing around her. Looking around, she found herself standing in the park, as she did every day at lunch, but this was different—more quiet, more peaceful.
She jumped, startled, as a hand touched her shoulder. Whirling around, she saw Jack standing behind her, grinning.
"Jack!" she exclaimed, stepping forward. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "I thought I'd visit for a while. I remember this place. Central Park. I made a few drawings here."
Rose smiled, then gave him a puzzled look. "Why are we here?"
"You come here every day. And unless I miss my guess, someone special to you comes here, too."
Rose immediately felt guilty. "Jack...Luke and I don't really mean anything to each other. I wouldn't betray you..."
"Rose, you can't betray me. I'm dead, remember? You may not realize it yet, but you and Luke Calvert are meant to be together. Why do you think he was assigned to be at the pier when the Carpathia docked that night?"
"He was there to get the story. He's a reporter."
"Stories like that aren't what he usually writes. Look closely at the paper and you'll see what I mean. No, there was a reason for him being there, and a reason that you saw him and mistook him for me. It was meant to happen that way."
Rose shook her head. "He hardly knows me. And he probably hates me now, after the way I lied about my past, and who I am."
"He doesn't hate you, Rose. He's upset that you lied to him, yes, but only because he cares for you."
"I don't think so, Jack. I keep waiting for him to print my story and tell the whole world what I did. I should never have told him the truth."
"Why not?"
Rose looked at Jack as though he were crazy. "He's a reporter. He could tell the world about me."
"But he won't." Rose started to speak, but Jack went on. "He's a good man, Rose, an honest man. He won't betray your trust."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just am." He shrugged. "Rose, I would like nothing better than to be there with you right now, waiting for the birth of our first child. But I can't. I died, and you kept your promise and went on. I've been watching out for you, though, and I can honestly say that of all the men in the world, Luke Calvert is the one I would choose for you to spend your life with."
"So now you're trying to decide what I should do with my life?"
"I'm not trying to decide anything for you. I can't make your decisions. Only you can do that." He took her chin in his hand, looking into her eyes. "But you don't have to be afraid that he'll tell the world about you, Rose. You needed to tell your story to someone, and in spite of the fact that he could use your story for his own purposes, he won't. He's too honest, and he does care about you." He pulled her close, kissing her and resting his hand on her middle for a moment, feeling the baby move. "Everything is going to be all right, Rose. Trust me."
Rose gave him a tremulous smile. "I trust you. I always have."
Jack stepped away from her. "I have to go back now, Rose."
"No, Jack. Don't go yet. Please."
"I have to, Rose."
"No. You don't have to go. Stay here with me. I need you—we need you." She put her hand on her stomach.
He smiled sadly. "You'll be all right, Rose. Both of you will be all right. You're strong, and you're smart—you'll be fine."
Even as Rose shook her head, he leaned forward and kissed her one more time. "You have your own life to live. Just like I told you, you're going to live a long time, and die an old lady, warm in her bed. You're going to have lots of babies—and Josephine will be the first. You'll have a good life—and someday we'll be together again. I promise." He squeezed her hand.
Rose nodded, fighting back tears. "I know. I love you, Jack."
"I love you, too, Rose."
He stepped away, a mist surrounding him and obscuring him from view. When the mist cleared, he was gone.
"Jack..." Rose whispered, tears filling her eyes as she looked at the place where he had stood. Then the park faded away, and she found herself back in her bedroom, gazing out the window.
Shakily, Rose got out of bed, going to stand before the mirror on the wall. She wiped at her tear-streaked face, looking at her pale face in the glass. Was that real? she wondered.
Then she caught sight of the locket hanging around her neck. She had taken it off before going to bed, but now it was back around her neck, resting against the ruffle on her thin nightgown. Something about it caught her eye.
The locket had been plain before, but now the gold surface was delicately etched with entwined hearts. Opening it, she looked at the picture inside. Jack seemed to smile at her from the tiny photograph.
It was real, she thought, tucking the locket inside her nightgown before lying down again. When she had needed Jack most, he had been there. He had known that she was afraid, and had brought her reassurance that everything would be all right.
Comforted now, Rose crawled back into bed, her fingers moving to clutch the locket before she fell asleep.
